


A Very Victory Christmas

by psocoptera



Category: Huge
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Food Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-15
Updated: 2010-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-13 22:55:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psocoptera/pseuds/psocoptera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorothy celebrates Christmas with her father and Wayne. Written for the <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/abc_las/">ABC Network Last Author Standing</a> challenge prompt "Tell a story centered around a December holiday (Christmas, Hanukkah, etc)."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Very Victory Christmas

Dorothy hasn't gone home for Christmas since she's been in recovery. It's just too tempting - her mother cooks for _days_ , until the tables groan with food and little plates of sweets are tucked into every corner. She visits in January, when Christmas excess has given way to New Year's resolution. So she's home on Christmas Eve when the doorbell rings.

She opens the door and doesn't know what to say. It's her father. She hasn't seen him since the day he left camp so suddenly, halfway through the summer - she hasn't even heard from him.

"Dad," she finally asks, "What are you doing here?"

"If a father can't visit his daughter on Christmas, when can he?" he answers. "You going to let me in?"

"Of course I'm going to let you in," Dorothy says, a little peeved that he might think otherwise.

Dorothy follows him into the house, seeing it as he might be seeing it. No Christmas tree, or decorations at all; there's a small pile of cards on her end table but she hasn't even stood them up.

"Sorry," she says to her dad, "If I had known you were coming, I would have, uh..."

 _Cooked_ , she thinks. She has a salad and half a broiled chicken breast in the fridge; even if she had enough for two, it wouldn't be much of a holiday dinner. She does a rapid mental inventory - she plans out her menu for the week when she does her shopping, so there's nothing extra to tempt her to snack, but it doesn't leave her much flexibility. Maybe she can thaw tomorrow's fish, and cook up Tuesday's pasta?

"My place right now isn't very nice," her father says behind her. He might sound slightly apologetic, or possibly accusatory; it's always hard to tell with him.

"Well, make yourself at home!" she says brightly, and flees to her bedroom.

She pulls out her phone - she's going to call her sponsor, just a quick call, she doesn't actually think she's about to relapse but she's got a bit of the same feeling, floaty and out-of-control. She thumbs past, though, and, impulsively, scrolls down to Wayne's number instead.

He picks up on the third ring. "Dorothy!" he says. "Merry Christmas! I was wondering if I would hear from you tonight."

She can hear Burl Ives singing in the background.

"My father is here," she blurts. "He just showed up on my doorstep, and I - I don't - "

"You should bring him over for dinner!" Wayne says immediately.

"Oh, no," Dorothy demurs. "I wasn't calling to ask - "

"I made way too much food, always do," Wayne says. "Just never seems like Christmas without the old favorites. I did the sweet potato thing, you know, that I was telling you about?"

Dorothy can feel herself weakening.

"Come on," Wayne says, "I didn't want to push, but I was hoping I'd see you. Wouldn't be the first time I had Salty to thank for a date with you."

"Thank you," Dorothy says, and tells her father. She thinks he might be pleased, in his undemonstrative way.

She barely recognizes Wayne's house when they get there: it's lit up like a fairgrounds in clashing, eye-searing reds and greens, and there's fake frost sprayed on the big front window.

She leads her father up the walk but hesitates at the be-wreathed front door, suddenly aware that she's empty-handed - she'd had Wayne's present shipped directly to him, like she always did for her mother, but she could have at least brought a poinsettia, or something.

Her father leans past her to ring the doorbell, shooting her a look.

Wayne shakes Salty's hand and ushers them into the house to the living room, where the stereo is playing Bing Crosby and a tinsel-draped tree nearly brushes the ceiling. He gets Salty settled on the couch with a mug of cider then draws Dorothy into the kitchen on the pretext of needing help with dinner.

"Transparent excuse," he murmurs, "I mean, _he_ was the chef." She doesn't have time to answer; he kisses her like it's been weeks, pressing her up against the refrigerator, dislodging magnets and sending papers fluttering to the floor.

When he finally pulls back, she feels more centered than she has since her doorbell rang.

"I'm surprised you... do all this," she says, gesturing vaguely at the red and green dishtowels.

"Reminds me it's Christmas," he says, shrugging. "I really could use some help getting this all on the table."

There's an impressive amount of food even for three of them, baked and roasted and fragrant, but as Dorothy carries it dish by dish to the dining table she realizes something: it's still just a meal. She's used to thinking of the holidays as peculiarly hazardous, but in fact, she doesn't feel any special compulsion to gorge. She's looking forward to trying the famous sweet potatoes, and beyond that, it's simply a meal to navigate like any other.

"Hey," she tells Wayne, who is pouring more cider. "Do you think maybe next year you'd like to come to my mother's?"

It's presumptuous - a year is more than twice as long as they've been dating so far - but he grins and ducks in for another kiss. "If your dad doesn't need a place to go," he says. "Let him know dinner is ready?"

She steps into the living room and stops short in surprise: Thurl Ravenscroft is singing about the Grinch, and her father is singing along.

He looks up and sees her and falls silent.

"I'm glad you came, Dad," she tells him sincerely, and crosses the room to hug him. He hugs her back gently, and for the first time since he left her mother, so many many years ago, she feels excited about the holiday, and what it might bring her.


End file.
